9 Life Lessons I Learned from My Dad's Death

I've had 15 years' worth of missing my father.

Dad died too young (the age of 64)–like his father before him, who at least lived until the age of 72. But given than I'm nearly 50, neither of those numbers thrill me.

I've had 15 years' worth of missing my father. His voice is beginning to slip from my memory, and that both saddens and frustrates me. The Bible says life is but a vapor, and that has never felt more true to me than it does since my father died. Thankfully, much of what he did and believed has stuck with me.

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Here's what I learned from his death:

1. Routines matter.

Over the final few years of Dad's life, we tried to meet at Denny's for breakfast on Saturday mornings. We didn't make it every Saturday, but I have to tell you, if I had to do it all over again, I'd hold up my end of the deal every single week. In fact, I'd give anything for just one more Saturday morning with him.

2. Leave nothing unsaid.

At the time of Dad's death, our relationship was strained. I challenged him about something he did and he didn't like it. One of my sisters intervened, and after a long conversation, she told me that he realized I was right to challenge him. But I wish I had gone the extra mile to make sure everything was settled between us.

3. He was right about many things.

Dad believed there were two types of people in this world–givers and takers, and that a person should endeavor to be a giver. Conversely, he believed that the system was fine–it's the people who run it who are broken. As I've gotten older, I've grown to appreciate his spirit of generosityand his healthy suspicion of people. It seems like the perfect balance to me.

4. Appreciate your parents' humanity.

We expect perfection from our parents when we are young, but that isn't fair. Dad had faults and struggles, like we all do. In hindsight, my expectations for him to breeze through life weren't realistic.

5. Don't bleed all over the next generation.

Dad was an alcoholic. It was a lifelong battle for him, and it led to many hardships–most of which he kept from his children. While some of his behavior spilled over and had an enormous effect on us, that was never his desire. Knowing that has made me more careful about bleeding all over the generation behind me.

At a family gathering in the late 1990s, my instant camera was out of film. At a dollar a photo, I didn't intend to take any more but Dad handed me 10 dollars and told me to buy more film because you can never shoot too many photos at a family gathering. He was right.

7. Helping others to find their passion matters.

Dad loved golf. He introduced me to the sport, and I enjoyed playing it with him. But it never became my passion, like tennis did. While he didn't understand tennis, he fully supported me, never once trying to convert me to his game. He bought me books about the sport and a nice racket. He gave wings to my passion, and I want to do that for young ones in my family.

Long before email was invented, Dad and I traded letters across the miles (my parents divorced when I was eight). I still have many of the letters he sent me. And after he died, I found dozens of the letters I sent him. I wouldn't take anything in the world for any of those letters.

9. The desire to make him proud never dies.

A day or two after Dad died, I heard this quote: "Life is for the living." I think it means we should avoid getting caught up in the expectations and desires of the dead after they are gone. But at the same time, I find that my desire to perform actions that would have made my dad proud has never waned. And I think that's OK.

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